


Wind Will Never Change

by Lil_Redhead



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Except Anne is Orpheus, F/M, Hadestown!AU, Orpheus and Eurydice Retelling, and Gil is Eurydice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 23:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20434397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Redhead/pseuds/Lil_Redhead
Summary: A re-telling of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth.Anne, the daughter of the goddess of spring, meets Gilbert Blythe in his father's orchard when the weather turns warm. Their love develops as naturally as the change of seasons, but when Anne has to journey to the dark corners of the Underworld to rescue him, their happiness is put to the test.





	Wind Will Never Change

**Author's Note:**

> You don't need to be familiar with Hadestown to read this story. In fact, this is a really really loose interpretation of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth with some Hadestown tastes. This story is mostly an exercise with my own muse and a purging of my emotions!
> 
> If you haven't listened to the musical Hadestown, do yourself a favor and give it a listen. It's unearthly beautiful, real, poetic, poignant, and every other wonderful adjective I could think of. If you want a more shirbert based experience, try listening to "All I've Ever Known" to start with! 
> 
> As always, enjoy!

_ “Let’s break through the heavy, wintry dirt still snow-soaked and cold, oh wide-eyed lover...These storms will pass and soon it will be spring.” _

It could not be said that Gilbert Blythe did not have a romantic side. 

The better half of his heart was grown in his father’s apple orchard, cultivated into tender sweetness with hungry hazel eyes that loved getting sun-drunk. He remembered days when his bare feet would carry him through the trees, over the fallen apples, and to the crest of the hill where he could lay in the soft grass and think. 

It could not be said that Gilbert Blythe was irrational, either. He was the picture of practicality. 

Thus when he laid in the grass to think, he made plans. He took the loose pieces of his life and began to lay them out to be sorted, starting with the edges and working his way in. Dreams became ideas and those ideas became detailed plans scrawled in the leather notebook he stored under his pillow. All of its pages filled as the years aged him, and just when he thought he had no room left, he met her. 

_ Anne. _

The island horizon welcomed her the day she arrived to Avonlea with one of the most peaceful dusks Gilbert had ever witnessed. Combing across the land with wild abandon, she took ownership of the spring breeze, the morning dew, and the tiger lily flowers that lined the avenue. Whispers traveled around town of the girl jumping off of the Cuthbert’s moving wagon to kneel in the dirt and pick blossoms for her hair. The town ladies were appalled, but Gilbert found himself quietly intrigued by this woman he hadn’t even met yet.

Warm light turned the green grass golden the night that he found her laying in his favorite spot in his father’s orchard. In a single moment, she became everything that Gilbert’s romantic heart craved. 

That’s the thing about being romantic _ and _practical - it gives you a fighting chance. 

*

When he finally approached her - that first blessed day - he could’ve done something “Grown Gilbert” was accustomed to doing, like hide a compliment in a friendly jeer. But looking at her, pale skin turned rosy by the sun and content smile lifted by freckled cheeks, he felt like he hadn’t just spent three years as a ripened man. The feelings bubbled out of him came right from a place inside of him he hadn’t touched in a long time the second she opened her mouth.

“Isn’t this the most beautiful place in the world?” 

The young woman slowly opened her eyes to reveal stormy gray irises. Her brow quirked when they fell upon Gilbert, and she inspected him with keen interest. The pastel green of her dress caught on the wind, and blew the side, revealing her bare toes. 

“I’ve always thought so,” Gilbert admitted. “You must be new around here.” 

“Arrived to the birthplace of my soul far too late, I think,” the woman confirmed. “Nowhere else has so much queen anne’s lace lining the verdants streets! Almost makes me glad to share its plain name.” 

She spoke in verses and riddles, but somehow Gilbert was able to understand every word. 

“Your name is Anne?” 

Anne sighed dramatically, falling flat on her back and stretching out her arms on the grass. 

“Too many people know me now as Anne here in Avonlea. I only wish I lied about my name before everyone learned it. Don’t you suppose this meeting would’ve been so much more romantic if my name had been...say, Cordelia or Rosamund?” 

“It’s plenty romantic,” Gilbert said softly, sitting on the ground beside her. Anne propped herself up on an elbow and combed her fingers through the soft grass. When he held out a small bouquet of snowbells, she realized he wasn’t joking. The smirk on her face fell, and she took the flowers, pressing them against her nose.

“Is it?” she murmured, avoiding his eye. “You haven’t even told me _ your _name.”

“Dr. Gilbert Blythe,” he introduced. She offered her hand, and instead of shaking it, he pressed her knuckles against his lips. Her skin smelled of sweet grass and honey. 

He wasn’t to know, yet, that she was of immortal blood.

*

Gilbert had fallen for a great many things in his life. He’d fallen for the island after coming back from Alberta - a child lulled to sleep by mystical whispers and promises for happiness in his new home. He’d fallen for medicine after saving his first life, and even more after he bought his first medical textbook. 

It all paled in comparison to the vibrant colors that entered his life when he’d fallen for Anne. Everyone who saw him knew it. John Blythe’s boy had gone completely mad over Marilla’s young new housekeeper. 

He sat beside her one day as she washed her feet in a creek. She’d let her hair down to protect the back of her neck from burning, and it matched the waves tumbling down the stream over the rocks. Silence had settled between them as she cupped her hands to pour cool water over her ankle.

“Can I ask you something personal?” Gilbert said. 

“I’ve not anything to hide and I’m generally not shy,” she answered easily.

“Oh, I know that.” After all, they’d been close confidants now for three months. “Where are your parents? You never speak of them.” 

Anne made a humming sound and dipped her face into a handful of water. 

“My mother is away for half the year. There’s not much to discuss of my birth father and my _step_-father is a cruel, ruthless man. It’s all a rather sad story.” 

“It can’t be completely sad. After all, your parents made you.” 

When she looked at him, her lashes glittered with wetness from the creek, causing a smile to lighten up Gilbert’s face. 

“I suppose you’re right. If you look at it the right way, even the saddest story can have some happy moments. Mine brought me here to this spot of heaven, and to Marilla, who loves me when my own mother can’t.” 

“And what about stories like ours?” he ventured. 

Her chin tilted up toward some of the sun peeking up through the trees. It drenched her bittersweet smile in shadows and light, but he could still see her ephemeral soul shining like the halo of golden highlights in her hair. She turned to kneel in front of him, and leaned until they shared the same air. 

“Remains to be seen,” she whispered. 

She placed a hand underneath his jaw and kissed him. A small sigh left his lips like a prayer, and Gilbert dissolved as it left him. His gentle hands - rough from a farmer’s upbringing and tender with a doctor’s touch - held her face as if he were holding divine treasure. 

“No, I know how this story goes,” Gilbert breathed as he pressed kisses along the hollow of her neck. He lingered on a sensitive spot just above her breasts until she shivered, then peered up at her through lidded eyes. “This is the part where I tell you I’m dead gone on you, Anne of the Island.”

She lifted his face to kiss the underside of his jaw, smirking lips pressed up against the blush of his skin.

“This is my favorite part. Let’s reread it.” 

*

Anne woke up on her wedding day to the sweet harmonies of birdsong on the other side of her window. Jubilation washed over her as she turned her face into the golden warm sunlight of morning. She pulled open her window to feel how perfectly mild the weather was, with its warm breeze and its cloudless sky, and was glad her mother was the goddess of the warm months. 

A strong shouldered figure caught her eye as she craned her head to look at the garden. 

_ Gilbert. _ He was bent in the garden, holding his finger out to a bumble bee on a tiny blossom. As if he could feel her tender gaze on his shoulders, he turned his face up to her window and saw her standing there. 

“Good morning, my love,” he called up. A dreamy smile turned Anne’s face into molten gold and she leaned out on her windowsill. The bee on his fingertip flew up, up, up to her gable window and landed straight on her nose. It pressed a kiss on a freckle before it buzzed away to softer, more pollen-y flowers. 

“Oh, Gilbert, you are the finest of all the lovely things I see on this morning. I do think that today will certainly be the beginning of a lifetime of mornings like these.”

Feeling much like Romeo did beneath the tower of his Juliet, Gilbert stumbled toward the window, lifting his chin up to see her. 

“Come down, won’t you?” Gilbert called.

“I can’t,” Anne lamented. “I don’t know if you heard, but I’m getting married today. I need to get dressed.” 

“You’d better hurry then. I hear there’s a fellow quite anxious to become your husband.” 

With one last love-ladden smile, Anne pulled her window closed and retreated back to her room. Marilla was waiting for her, and a white lacy gown was hanging against the wall. They chatted reverently about the new days to come and the changes this day would bring. In the back of her mind, though, Anne’s thoughts were only of her groom and the white harbor house that was awaiting them. 

Interrupting her thoughts, someone knocked at the door. Anne assented to their entry, and the door swung open to welcome the green gowned Queen of Spring. She brought in the smell of forest musk with her, an earthy combination of spring blossoms and creek water. 

“Oh, sweet blossom mine, look at you,” Persephone beamed. 

“Momma!” Anne shot to her feet, “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I promised I would.” Persephone pressed gentle kisses to Anne’s cheeks, then took a closer look at the gown. “Marilla, you did an expert job on the alterations. Thank you for seeing to them.” 

Marilla’s face was courteous, but Anne knew how Marilla felt about the superficial motherhood with which Persephone cared for her. The aged woman believed a mother should be more present than Persephone had been, even if her daughter is a grown woman of marrying age. 

“I met that young man of yours on my way in,” Persephone continued. The mention of Gilbert was enough for Anne to lighten up. “What a compassionate, reasonable heart he has. Uncommon for men folk.” 

“Gilbert is the best of men,” Anne agreed. Then with a chuckle, “If not perhaps a bit stubborn.” 

“He was very stubborn about marrying you, if I recall correctly. The Blythe Constitution will do that to a man!” Marilla added in with a smirk. 

“I think I’ve kept him waiting long enough,” Anne laughed. She rose to her feet. “I’m ready.” 

It was a wonder Gilbert’s heart didn’t fail him when he caught his first glance of his bride all lacy white in her dress. He had heard the dress belonged to her mother many, many years ago, but the style was far from dated. Every inch of the gown was draped with the same ease of midday clouds, made with tulle that looked nearly blush colored in the morning light. Its puffed sleeves nearly tumbled over her shoulders, weightless cascades that gave hints of her pale skin. Pearls and silken flowers were stitched in, leaving Anne the most lovely thing he’d ever laid his eyes on.

It was that moment that Gilbert remembered all the pain she’d spoken of, her lonely upbringing and the condemnation of her poetic soul by those around her. As her husband he could protect the serene, loving smile on her face. There were certainly worse ways he could spend his life. As he offered his hand, he made his solemn vow, sealing the promise with a kiss on her knuckles.

They stood side by side and hand by hand at the crest of the Blythe orchard, the same small spot of tall grass and flowers on which they met. Flushed faces listening to the minister declare words of officiation, the couple tried to memorize every detail in their minds. 

Together they spoke life into their deathless vows, archaic words of poetry that united them to each other. Anne, the Muse’s daughter, spoke her words in a way that weaved her very essence into her groom. Gilbert, the farmer’s boy, made his vow with all the honesty and reverence his love had given him. Before all their friends, they made real what had always been there. 

“I do.” 

“I do.” 

Like an epistle, they sealed the marriage with a kiss of promise. Anne and Gilbert reveled in the euphoria for a lasting moment as their friends and family cheered. The doctor, drunk off of his own joy, lifted his bride off of her feet and pulled her against him. When he returned her toes back to the earth, he pressed his forehead to hers and shared her breath.

“If I get any happier, I’ll perish,” he admitted softly, loud enough only for her ears. Anne held onto him around his neck, smiling wide enough that he could feel it against his own skin. 

Later that night, Anne waited for her husband, gaze watching the fireflies turn the garden of their new house of dreams into a canvas of constellations. The doctor’s heart stumbled when he saw her sitting at the window seat, the night breeze sweeping her hair back and the curtains billowing into the room. When she heard him come in, she outstretched her hand to him, beckoning to fall at her side. 

“Hardly seems real, doesn’t it,” he commented, an arm around her shoulders. 

“No, it seems like the sort of thing you dare to dream of when you’re young. I daresay there’s a very lonely girl in the past somewhere who must cope until this day of exquisite joy. She’s likely hiding under a dusty stairwell, cursing her red hair, murmuring poetry, and jumping at shadows.” 

Gilbert wrapped his arms around her until she was leaning flush up against him. 

“Ah, but you hold me like this, my love, and all the ghosts of yesterday seem like smoke on the wind,” Anne sighed, grabbing his arms around hers. 

“There’ll be no shadows in this house, Anne-girl,” Gilbert promised into her hair. “Not when there’s a man who loves you beyond understanding and our entire future lying before us.” 

Anne turned to look at him. Her lips rested firmly together, but her eyes spoke novels of her peace, her happiness, her own love. He felt it as she pressed her palms flat against his chest and pulled her hands down to feel the muscles there. 

Meeting his eyes, she guided his hands to reach for the silky skirts of her nightgown. His gentle fingers felt the fabric before tugging it up and up until she was bare before him. An essential part inside of him was hollowed out at the sight of her, emptying him of all the things he didn’t need to love his wife in this moment. All that was left when he met her eyes was a storm of desire that turned his touch to flames. 

His lips met her freckled shoulder when he finally dropped the nightgown. It landed in a heap on the hard floor, forgotten and drenched in a pool of olympian moonlight. 

*

The only one who knew Gilbert better than his wife was his beloved House of Dreams. It shared with him every moment, even the ones not worth sharing. It gave tender silence when he tied himself up in his office and poured over texts in search for medical solutions. It let in a warm breeze when he and Anne made love in their moonlit room. It laughed with him when they invited guests to twilight dinners, flickering warmth from its hearth as friends spun yarns about days of old. 

And it told Gilbert that something was very, _ very _wrong when he pulled in from his rounds one late autumn night. 

He made quick work of tying the horse up in the stables, struggling against the whinnying mare. Outside the barn door, the wind gained speed like a tyrant storm, shuttering the panels of the walls and whistling through the cracks. As soon as the horse was tied, Gilbert darted toward the house. None of the candles in the window were lit. Gilbert frowned - Anne always left a few burning so he could find his way up to bed. 

The screen shutter door of the moaning House of Dreams swung open, then slammed shut as the storm up above brewed. 

_ Upstairs, _ the house seemed to tell him. _ Upstairs! _

Gilbert’s blood ran cold. _ Anne _was upstairs. 

The world passed by in a blur as the doctor made his way through his house, as frightened as he would be passing through a haunted forest and not by the walls of the home he loved. His blood roared in his ears, making him dizzy, making him mad. When his shaky hands found the door handle of their bedroom, he forced all his energy into pushing it open. 

And suddenly the world went static. Gilbert’s mind went blank. 

A man - taller than any man Gilbert had ever seen before - stood over Anne’s sleeping form. His long, gray fingers were frozen above her, as if he had been about to grab the heart from inside her chest. His clothes were long and black, and he made the room smell like stale blood. 

“Ah, the husband is finally home,” the dark man said. His voice echoed a thousand times over off the walls. He emanated a heavy aura of sin and evil, more malevolent than Gilbert ever thought he’d feel. It made his skin feel like it was starting to peel away like aged wallpaper.

But in that moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that this man was about to _ hurt _Anne. As if someone had lit a flame beneath him, Gilbert sprinted across the room and draped himself over Anne, shielding her from the sharpened nails clawing toward her. 

“Don’t touch her!” Gilbert raged, more frightening and powerful than he’d ever been in his life before. His eyes fell into the dark man’s, muscles stiffening when he found they were completely, utterly, endlessly black. 

“What’s a mere doctor to a god? Out of my way, boy.” 

The man reached out his hand again for the sleeping Anne, but Gilbert snatched it, fingernails digging into the man’s wrist as a warning. 

“Which god?” he murmured. 

The man peered down at Gilbert’s act of bravery, then gave a humorless chuckle. It sent a burning shiver down the doctor’s spine, but he rooted himself into the ground. Leaning down, the man brought himself level to Gilbert. His hot breath reeked of rotting, and Gilbert had to swallow back the urge to gag. 

“What god?” Gilbert repeated, this time even quiet. The man smiled. 

“Hades.” 

In spite of himself, a tear trailed down Gilbert’s cheek. He’d never been so terrified in all of his life. How was it that only that morning, sunlight had filled the dear house and Gilbert had left with a lingering parting kiss to Anne. She’d told him she loved him. She’d told him she wanted to start their family. How was that all so long ago? 

“What could you possibly want with my wife?” 

Then, as if an invisible hand had taken hold of him around the waist, Gilbert flew across the room. His back slammed against the wall, and even with his strongest attempts, he couldn’t move. It was as if someone had tied him there, forcing him to watch as Hades grazed his cold fingers across Anne’s cheek. Gilbert strained against the restraints with a growl of fury.

“My wife has refused to come home with me this year,” Hades lamented with masked bitterness. “So I’m taking her daughter as substitute.” 

Gilbert went slack against his invisible restrictions. His eyes wide. 

“Anne is Persephone’s daughter?” he said slowly, his voice coming from a foreign place inside of him.

Hades gave a faux little gasp. 

“Oh, you didn’t know! Anne Shirley is the bastard daughter of my wife and a poor muse.” 

It all made utter and complete sense, and Gilbert grieved as it unraveled in his head. Every flower that ever keened toward heer, every warm spring breeze that kissed her cheek. Every line of poetry that seemed to bring the earth back into rightness. For god's sake, she even said her mother was away for half of the year! 

Gilbert’s head hung limp. What could he do to save her? He was mortal, tragically powerless. 

“Don’t waste your last moments, son,” Hades sneered. “Say goodbye to your sweet wife and little baby.” 

Hades knew exactly what the words would do to the poor doctor. It felt like lightning had struck Gilbert right down the core.

“What do you mean?” Gilbert asked, forcing himself to stare straight into the inky night of Hades’ eyes. 

“I suppose you didn’t know that either. She’s carrying your child.”

Gilbert let out another angry moan, eyes blurry with tears and loathing. He hated being helpless, he hated being powerless, he hated this, he hated everything. 

“Take heart, doctor. Not everyone’s son gets to be Prince of the Underworld.” 

Hades didn’t hear Gilbert’s shouts of protest, the way the man begged and pleaded for his wife to wake up and save herself. But she slept, beautifully and peacefully, as if he were beside her holding her. Each thread that held Gilbert Blythe together was unraveling, and when she was gone, he’d be nothing. 

In one last ditch effort, right when Hades was about to lay his almighty hand on Anne’s chest, Gilbert let out a scream that rattled the dead. 

“_Take me instead! _” 

Hades looked up, eyebrow cocked. 

“What worth do you have, mortal?” 

None, Gilbert knew that with certainty. But there had to be something he could offer the king of the Underworld, something the man wanted.

And then he thought of something. 

It was selfish - god, it was the most selfish, horrible thought he’d ever had. If he said it, he knew he’d hate himself forever. Avonlea would never forgive him. But if it meant saving Anne and his child, he’d pay that price. He’d suffer eternity if it meant she was safe. 

“You know I’m a doctor. Without me, people will suffer. They’ll suffer and they’ll die. They’ll fall right into your kingdom, under your domain. Just...just promise me you’ll leave her and the child alone.” 

Hades hummed. Gilbert wanted to vomit.

“You know how to set a bargain, Doctor Blythe,” he commented. Gilbert waited on baited breath. “Deal.” 

Gilbert’s invisible restraints vanished away into nothingness, sending the quivering man crashing onto the floor in an exhausted heap. He clawed his fingers into the hardwood floor, blurry eyes focused on his red knuckles. 

He was really doing this. He was really handing himself over to the devil. 

“Can I...Can I say goodbye?” he begged in a quiet voice. 

“If you must.” 

His legs gathered enough strength to lift him up and tumble him to the side of their bed. Anne still slept, her red hair a halo of golden and copper in the moonlight. A sob escaped Gilbert’s lips when he bent his head and kissed her forehead.

“Anne-girl, sweetheart.” 

Something in his pain stirred her and her eyes fluttered open. In the dark, Gilbert couldn’t make out the green specks in her eyes, just gray, gray gray. 

“Gil, what’s-” Her gaze fell on Hades, and she began to jolt up, but Gilbert held her down. 

“I need you to know, Anne, that I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you. Being your husband has been my life’s greatest honor,” he rushed. Hades was becoming impatient behind him. Anne opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Unable to speak, she began to weep alongside him, eyes warning him about the man watching behind. But Gilbert already knew and the deal was made. 

Using the last moments of his goodbye, Gilbert pressed a kiss to her stomach. 

“Goodbye, my love.” 

And then he and Hades were gone. 

Anne threw herself out of bed, eyes wild with shock and tears. Around her the house was quiet and peaceful, as if it hadn’t just played host to the god of Death. She spun around, looking for traces of her husband, wondering if it had been a bad nightmare. 

But it was no dream. 

Anne’s knees crumpled beneath her. Only the spirit of the house heard her heartbroken sobs, and the gutters moaned as if they were weeping alongside her. 

Outside, the world became shaded and the rain ceased.

*

When Avonlea awoke the next morning, news spread of how the rain had wiped out all the flowers and crops, but Anne, with her sunken eyes, knew the truth. A day later, the talk had changed and everyone knew that Doctor Blythe was gone. They all blamed her- they didn’t know how, they didn’t know why, but they knew she was the cause. Anne didn’t flinch when it reached her - they were right to blame her. 

She received no visitors. Not Marilla, not Diana, not her brother-in-law Bash. They all had questions, and she didn’t have it in her to give answers. 

But one visitor did come that Anne was too tired to turn away. She felt her before she came. 

“Anne, sweet blossom, are you home? Gilbert?” 

The demigod was sitting on the ground in her kitchen, supporting her weight against a cupboard. Her gray eyes had burned with all the tears she shed, and she’d collapsed here so no one would see if they peered into the window. 

And that was how her mother found her, crumpled like a child with dull eyes.

“Anne!? What happened?” Persephone cried, falling beside her daughter but Anne swatted her pale hand away. 

“You’re cruel when you want to be,” Anne spat bitterly. “Leave me alone.” 

“Cruel? I’m not leaving until you explain to me what has you sitting on the kitchen floor in tears. Did you fight with Gilbert?” Hearing his name was too much and Anne turned her face away to swallow back another bout of tears. 

“I thought it was all a dream, but then I woke up and they were both there and I realized that everything I heard was true,” Anne rambled tiredly. Then, spoken for the first time since it happened, “Hades took Gilbert. He’s gone.” 

Persephone sat back on her haunches, face pale.

“Why would he do that?” 

“Because _ you _won’t go anymore!” Anne screamed. “Why won’t you go? Hades came for me, and I’d be with him if Gilbert hadn’t sacrificed himself. That wasn’t his wrong to right!” She let out a shattered moan. “I wish it was me, I wish he’d taken me. And now my husband is gone and...and I’m going to have his baby, momma. He knew, too. Gilbert knew and that’s why he went.” 

Rising to her feet, Persephone crossed over to the window and looked out at the sunny landscape. Even though the yard was bathed in afternoon light, the grass was duller, the flowers had died, and weeds had sprouted in the garden. 

“I….I knew Hades was hurt when I said I needed time away. But I never thought he’d come for you.” Persephone faced her daughter again, but Anne refused to meet her eye. “Anne, you have to believe me.” 

“I never asked to wind up in the eye of your storm. I never asked for a mother who is only around half of the year or a step-father that rules over the dead. I wanted to live with my quiet family, with the man I love,” Anne said, eyes sharp.

“I know.” 

If Persephone had been around more, she might’ve known that though her daughter had always grieved sorrows to the depths of her heart, Anne never stayed down for long. She was surprised when Anne pulled herself up with her weak muscles and lit a fire of determination in her eyes. 

“So you’re going to help me get him back.” 

“Anne, darling…” 

“_No!” _ Anne shouted. She marched up to her mother, stared her in the eyes, and said, “You’re going to help me get my husband back.” 

Persephone knew that spring storms were worse than winter blizzards, uncontainable once unleashed, so she stared at the girl she had carried as Anne now carried her child. 

“Alright, I’ll help you.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this even a little, think about dropping a kudos or bookmark! ♥ If you wanna chat, come find me on tumblr, @royalcordelia !


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